


Catch Me When I Fall

by Tcharlatan



Category: Dir en grey
Genre: Alcohol, Band Fic, Drunken Confessions, Early Work, Embarrassment, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Insecurity, M/M, Masturbation, POV First Person, Sex Toys, Sexual Experimentation, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 11:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tcharlatan/pseuds/Tcharlatan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drunken collision in the snow leads Kyo to doubt first Die, then himself as he's forced to look at their relationship in a new light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cadkitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/gifts).



> Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. I do not personally know any of the members of Dir en grey, and do not profit from this work.

A vicious wind strikes from behind, whipping snow and ice into a frenzy.

“Ueeh!”

“Haha, too cold?”

“Goddamn it! I hate this weather!”

“Eeehehe, you look like a li’l bird all hunched up like that!”

“Shut up. Birds have better sense than to be out in this shit…”

It’s a scene that’s played out a thousand times over the past few years. We go out as a group, just the five of us, and Die gets himself absolutely sloshed. Whether in mourning or celebration, it hardly seems to matter; one time in three, he’ll put absolutely no effort into pacing himself and be too far gone to walk straight by the time the bar closes. If we let him off on his own, he’s liable to pass out on a bench somewhere or piss on a lamppost and get himself arrested, so we decided as a group that when he gets that bad, one of us needs to escort him home. No big deal, right? Regardless of how irritating it might be to babysit a drunken band-mate at three in the morning, there are four of us to share the responsibility, and we all love him enough to do it.

That’s what I’d thought in the beginning, anyways, when I agreed to this plan. I should have known that it would always, inevitably fall on me as the only sober enough party left at the end of every gathering. And he’s drunker tonight than I’ve ever seen him; I’m a little surprised he’s still upright, honestly.

“’s not that bad! Don’t be a wuss, you’re s’pposed to be the tough one!”

“You just can’t feel it because you’re trashed. Watch where you’re walking, you’re going to slip.”

“No way! I’m graceful like a… like a tiger!”

“No, you’re drunk, like a frat boy. Watch where you’re walking.”

“Killjoy!”

“Lush.”

“Midget!”

The walk is generally pleasant enough, nothing more complicated than friendly banter passing between us, so beyond some half-hearted bitching about the weather, I’ve never really complained. Hell, I’ve almost come to enjoy the time alone with him – the promise of one of these walks is all that convinces me to go out at all, sometimes. Outside of the group, without the pressure to entertain and make people laugh, I’ve found that Die is actually very good company. On nights when he’s slightly less drunk than he is now, I’m reminded that he’s smarter than he lets on, and can be more sensitive than anyone I’ve ever known, no matter how well he hides it when he’s sober. It’s usually more than enough to make up for the nights like this one, when he’s just plain stupid.

“Really? Short jokes, after all these years? I expect better from you.”

“Wha’s that? Eh? Eh? I can’t hear you s’far down there, you’ll have to speak UP! Hahaha! Get it?!”

“You’re a head taller than me, but that’s a disparity easily corrected. Watch wh-”

“Whoop!”

“Shi- DIE!”

Except that he always winds up tripping over something. And every time – every _damn_ time! – no matter how many times I tell myself to just let the fucker fall and maybe learn for once, I always try to catch him. He’s always been pretty skinny, so I usually manage to keep him from toppling completely; he just giggles and drapes himself over me and we can continue on our way. Other times, like tonight, we get hopelessly tangled and I wind up on my ass for the effort.

“ **FUCK!** GODS-FUCKING- **DAMN** IT DAISUKE, YOU BLUNDERING, SHIT-FACED SON OF A BITCH, WHY CAN’T YOU LEARN HOW TO WALK?!”

Except it’s early December and the weather has been absolute shit, so this time I’m on my ass in a fucking snowdrift.

Die, that bastard, is laughing overhead, nice and dry because he landed on top of me and I can’t help but squeal as snow and ice are pressed up the back of my jacket. It’s so cold it hurts and I just know it’s all soaking into my clothes, which means I get to finish the walk to his place drenched in ice water. Fan-FUCKING-tastic! I try to arch my back to get away from the biting cold, but with Die resting on me, it only makes matters worse, pressing me deeper into the mess.

I swear, next time I’m just going to let the idiot fall.

“Gaaaaahhhhaaaaahhhh, it’s so cold, Die, move, damn it, move! FUCK, it’s cold, would you MOVE?!”

I squirm and fuss and curse for a minute before it occurs to me that he’s gone quiet, not moving at all to help or hinder. He isn’t even laughing anymore, and that in and of itself is very concerning. The fear that the bastard has passed out on me hits hard, because I know for a fact I can’t carry him all the way back to his apartment as deadweight, and I flail all the harder for it.

“Die?!” I crane my head back and catch a glimpse of his face, and thank the gods that he’s still awake. But then why isn’t he moving? “What’s the matter… with… you…?”

The look on his face… it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before, and I feel myself go very still under the weight of it. He looks so damn conflicted, I can hardly begin to grasp what might be going on in his head, when he’s got the same heart-breakingly sweet smile as always, but his eyes are as sad as a newlywed’s grave. It’s like he’s in heaven, but its light is burning him, and something in my chest aches in response. Die isn’t supposed to look like that… not _Die_ _._ Die – who, in public, laughs and teases and jokes to keep everyone happy, always a trickster, but never cruel; who, in private, helps me with my English and lets me play with his beloved guitars, and never mocks my lack of skill at either – is never supposed to hurt.

_[Isn’t that why you always catch him?]_

“Die…?”

He leans down until his mouth is right next to my ear, and whispers, his voice eerily clear after so much slurring, “Ne, Kyo… you fit so nice under me… like you’re made to be there.”

…What the fuck?

Even if that was what I was expecting him to say, I’d have thought it would come out with more laughter, as a joke. I never could have imagined him saying anything like that with such… _yearning_. Is it… what is it for? Is he just lonely, or…? One of his hands comes up to touch my cheek, wet and ice cold from resting in the snow, and all I can do is stare at him in confusion. Some of his hair brushes over my face and before I realize it – before I can even finish processing what he just said – his mouth is fixing against mine.

It’s… sweet. Firm – his lips are pressing and sliding against mine, slick, providing just the tiniest bit of suction to keep us sealed together – but undeniably sweet. I don’t think anyone has ever kissed me so gently, and even though it’s entirely chaste, I feel a weird little tingle go up my spine. I really have no idea how to handle this situation. Should I be offended? Flattered? Angry? I can’t decide without knowing his intentions. If he laughs at me, I might punch him in the mouth, since it’s so determined to get him into trouble tonight.

I should push him away. I know I should push him away, but… I can’t help but notice how different he feels. I’ve only ever kissed women before and Die is just so plainly not a woman. His lips are soft enough, but he has end-of-the-day stubble, he tastes like beer and cigarettes, he smells like cologne and man, and his body is all hard, flat planes against mine. Even the hand against my cheek is utterly masculine, wide and long fingered and calloused from years pressing and strumming at steel strings. It’s completely foreign but… in a strangely familiar kind of way, I guess because it’s him?

And it’s not… _bad_ , necessarily…

_[Not bad at all.]_

He pulls away and settles down against me, nuzzling his face into my neck with a sigh, and I still don’t have any answers. I don’t know if he’s just tanked and looking to score or if this was some kind of joke that he forgot to laugh at, but either way my mind is somewhat blown. We all have known for years that he’s bisexual, but as drunk as he’s prone to getting, he’s never made a move on any of us before, even in jest. My lips tingle, and I let my tongue slip out over the bottom one, tasting him there.

Bizarre.

I stare up at the sky for a while, watching the snow fall on us while my mind flings itself into a frantic spiral. Why did he-? Why didn’t I-? Why did he look so-? Why did it feel so-? Why… why… why… so many whys, answers presenting themselves to me for not a single one, only so much confusion. He’s never done anything like this before! Then I register that little sigh he just gave – how damned contented it sounded, and how many times I’ve heard it in the past – and I realize what he’s doing. I put the whole kiss business on the back burner for now, because there are way more pressing issues to deal with all of a sudden.

“Hey, hey!” I grab him by the shoulders and shake him. “Do _not_ fall asleep on me! Daisuke! Get up! Up, up, UP!”

“Hnn-nnn,” he protests lazily, muffled against my jacket. I’ve gotten all the lucidity out of him that I can hope for this evening, apparently.

“Come on, Die! Please? We’re going to freeze to death out here.”

“Hn-nn. Y’re warm… mmm…”

“No, I’m really not! Get up and let’s get you home before we both get sick.”

“Mmm… home?”

“Yeah, home. C’mon, up! You have to get up, and then we’ll go home. Doesn’t your bed sound nicer than the ground out here? Up, Die, you have to get up!”

He groans and whines for a while as I alternate between wheedling, commanding, and just fucking shoving, but eventually I get us both back on our feet. I’m absolutely soaked, head to toe up my back and sides, the snow is still piling up, and he can’t even pretend to walk straight anymore, so the last leg of our trip is a miserable effort. I’m too tired to even be angry anymore and he’s mostly asleep by the time we make it to his apartment, but I get him into his bedroom and even manage to keep him from cracking his skull on anything when he collapses happily onto his futon.

With the ease that comes with too much practice, I strip him down to his shirt and boxers, roll him onto his side, set a pair of pain pills and a glass of water nearby, and leave him to sleep it off. Having learned this lesson the hard way once before, I also clear a path to the bathroom in case he gets sick, and leave the light on half-dimmed. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t just let him hurt just a little more for his lack of self-control. Let him sleep on his face in his wet clothes; let him trip on the piles of dirty clothes littering his room and puke all over his floor in the middle of the night; let him stagger around in the morning, blinded by a splitting headache, fumbling for anything that even looks like aspirin. Maybe if I weren’t around to ease his self-induced suffering, he would be more careful with himself.

But I just… can’t.

_[For the same reason that you never let him fall.]_

_[You just hate seeing him unhappy…]_

Fucker brings it on himself more often than not with his own notoriously piss-poor choices, in spite of being more than smart enough to avoid most of his pitfalls. Closet masochist, I guess, but who am I to judge?

It’s nearly four in the morning by the time he’s taken care of and I just can’t be bothered to fuss with the guest futon. I borrow a pair of his sweatpants and a tee shirt (actually… is this mine? Weird…) and get dressed, hanging my wet clothes up in the bathroom to dry before crashing on his couch. Sleep starts to creep up on me, and I find myself touching my lips absently as I drift. Jesus, did Die really just…?

Shit. I hope tomorrow makes more sense than today did.

_[Don’t be stupid.]_


	2. Chapter 2

“FUCK YOU, TOORU! _FUCK YOU!”_

Tiny feet stomp down my hallway, pure fury lending weight and strength to what had once been a delicate little patter. There’s a faint rustle as shoes are yanked on and a purse and jacket are collected, then the door opens and slams shut. I don’t think she’ll be coming back any time soon, if ever. The sharp, echoing crash only makes the silence that follows it all the more poignant and I sigh, closing my eyes as the anger drains out of me, leaving only uncertainty and regret. Laying sprawled out naked on my bed, it occurs to me that I’m losing my goddamn mind.

This whole situation is really getting out of hand. Just over an hour ago, I was having sex with that girl and everything was going just the same way it always did. The usual flirting, followed by the usual foreplay, followed by the usual fucking. Predictable, but satisfying; comfortable after having been together for almost three months.

_[Just killing time. She could never fill that void.]_

Except the whole time we were together, I kept thinking about goddamn Die, wondering what it would be like if we…

I tried not to – gods did I ever try – but he just kept popping back up in the back of my mind. She knew something was up and confronted me afterwards. She was jealous, and a little hurt I think, insisting I was thinking about someone else, asking if there’s another woman, if that was why I’m always too busy to see her. It didn’t seem like this was a new concern to her, she’d been holding onto it for a while, I think. Maybe we were doomed from the get-go if she resented my work, and distrusted me that much, but… I hate that it’s my fault things ended this way, with so much bitterness between us.

_[It was never going to be more than a fling.]_

She was half right, I guess. I was thinking about someone else, but I didn’t want to be, goddamn it, and I was pissed off at myself that I was, especially because of who I was thinking about. I felt guilty and more than a little freaked out, on top of being insulted at the insinuation that I would cheat. So, in true asshole form, I got defensive. We got in a huge fight over it, and… well, she got the last word in and now she’s gone. She was a sweet girl, not to mention absolutely gorgeous, and other than my being too busy to spend as much time with her as she wanted, things had been going fairly well. I feel like I should be upset about breaking up with her. Hell, I should be on the phone or dragging some pants on and chasing after her, apologizing for being a prick at least.

But instead, I’m laying here where she left me, naked and staring at the ceiling, thinking about goddamn _Die_.

Two weeks. It’s been two fucking weeks since Die got trashed and kissed me, and it’s still driving me absolutely nuts. I never got any answers, no apologies or explanations from him. He didn’t say a damn word about it the next day, smiling miserably and bitching about his hangover like nothing happened, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to bring it back up if he didn’t even remember it. I should just drop it, let it go. I should be thankful he doesn’t remember, so it can’t make things awkward between us.

But I can’t stop wondering, why?

 _Why_ did he kiss me?

Why did he kiss _me?!_

It’d be so easy to dismiss as just a fluke. I mean, he was exceptionally drunk that night. But then… why did he look at me like that before he did it? Why did he sound so pained? And now that I think about it, hadn’t he seemed kind of down when we were at the bar? He usually only drinks himself that stupid when he’s upset. The more I think about that kiss – about what he said – the more I wonder, was he just lonely? Just horny? Or does he actually want me in particular? It seems impossible… Die, liking me? Ridiculous! I’ve been told by plenty of very presumptuous people, who know me only as a stage presence, that they’d love to “try me out,” like I’m some exotic drug or a particularly wild ride at an amusement park, but he has no excuse for such poor taste. Between his looks, his personality, and his talent, Die of all people can afford to have much higher standards.

_[And yet…]_

I started watching him these past couple weeks, trying to figure out whether or not what happened was actually about me or if I just happened to be who he landed on, and I noticed that he’s almost always looking at me. It’s inconspicuous enough that if I hadn’t been looking for it, I would never have noticed – never noticed before, obviously – but when I’m searching for it, it’s impossible to ignore. I’ll stop to drink from a bottle of tea and if I glance over at him, he’ll be staring at my neck. I’ll be fidgeting with the microphone cord or writing something in my notebook, and he’ll be watching my hands. I even caught him peeking at my ass when I bent to get a drink out of the vending machine.

At least, I’m almost positive that’s what I saw. He’s awfully fucking sneaky about the whole thing, always peering over a magazine or through lowered eyelashes out the corner of his eyes. If he sees me watching him, he’ll simply blink, and when his eyes open again, they’ll be focused somewhere else, very casually. Hell, it seems to come as natural to him as the rhythms in any other old habit; the drift of a hand carrying a cigarette to and from the mouth, the fluid twist-pluck-twist to tune a guitar, staring at me and dodging when I catch him. Easy as breathing, which makes it damn hard to use as proof of anything. But I’m pretty sure… yes, I’m sure that’s what I saw.

He touches me a lot, too, I realized. More than he used to? It doesn’t seem like it; he’s always been very physically affectionate. Maybe I’m just more aware of it now… Always, his hand is on my back or around my shoulders. Always, he sits next to me and presses his leg alongside mine, brushes his shoulder against mine. Fleeting touches, casual yet charged, nothing truly implicative, but is it more than what he does with the others? More careful? More meaningful? Is he paying more attention, when it’s me? Or does it come as second nature to him, an instinct he can’t overcome? It feels different, somehow, than the way he touches the others, or the way they touch me.

_[Like he’s positively charged, and you’re negative.]_

_[Always drawn toward one another, and when contact is made…]_

Yesterday, after catching him eyeing my ass, I finally had to accept, that Die… might want to sleep with me. At least somewhat? Gods, that’s weird to think about! I can be attractive from certain angles, I suppose, but he’s seen me in my best and my worst lights, and I feel like the latter probably outweigh the former. Maybe he likes short, troll-faced guys, maybe he’s just hard-up and I’m what’s around, I don’t know. But if he does, he’s trying pretty hard to hide it, and I know how sensitive he can be about things like this, so I can’t really call him on it without embarrassing him.

 Plus, if I’m wrong… ugh, wouldn’t that be a mess? I’d feel like an egomaniac for thinking someone like Die would ever want someone like me, and he’d clam up thinking I was making assumptions about him just because he likes men, something that has lost him more than a few friends in the past. Besides, why, of all of us, would he want to sleep with me? I’m moody and antisocial more often than not, and against Kaoru, Toshiya, and Shinya, I’m almost painfully plain. Like a dusty little Dysgonia moth fluttering clumsily amongst Karasu swallowtails, their wings shimmering like so many priceless gems in the sun while I’m just… dull. And it’s not like he treats me any different than he always has, it doesn’t feel like anything has changed between us other than my own heightened awareness of our every interaction.

But the things he said… how sad he looked, how hurt he sounded… how gently he kissed me…

_[Like he was aching for the contact.]_

Die could want to have sex with me…

Fuck, I don’t know.

I don’t know!

Either way, it’s making it impossible for me to forget that damn kiss. What was going on in that booze-addled mind that night? If I had kissed him back, would he have wanted to fool around? Just like that? “Surprise! Sex!” With me?! But it wasn’t a gross, lusty drunk kiss… it was so sweet, but strong, as if I were… cherished, but not fragile. So unlike the way I’m accustomed to being handled. Maybe that’s why I can’t get rid of it? Why the memory of it just keeps sneaking up on me, forcing itself into my mind in fragments, tearing my mind apart like shards of a broken mirror whose reflection is completely foreign.

_[You’ve seen this image before. It’s just at a new angle now.]_

I’m not, and have never been, gay, or even bisexual, so it’s unsettling to be having these thoughts in the first place. I’ve never been with another man, or wanted to be with another man, or even thought about being with another man. But I guess if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not all that terribly attached to being “straight” either. I mean… as long as the person is worth being around, as long as there’s love, who the fuck cares what body they’re in? It hardly matters in the long run; once they reach a certain age, everyone starts looking the same anyways. And Die is certainly worth being around. I imagine he would be so easy to love, if it came to that.

But in terms of purely physical sexual appeal… could I ever be attracted to another man? Could I ever be turned on by the sight, the feel of one? Could I ever _have sex_ with Die, if that’s what he’s really after? Kissing him was nothing like kissing my girlfriend, or any other woman, but it wasn’t bad either. What would sleeping with him be like? The whole time I was fucking my girlfriend, part of me was wondering, would he feel like she does underneath me? All soft and warm and yielding? Would he make those soft, breathy little moans and gasping sighs? Would his fingernails dig into my shoulders, leaving scratches as he grabbed at me for support?

 I can’t really imagine him like that. Somehow I feel like he’d be harder against me, tighter around me. Like his moans would be deeper, and his strong hands with their blunt fingers would leave bruises, not scratches. He’s got long legs, too… would they wrap around me, pulling me closer? Would he smell the way she did afterwards? Would he coo and flutter his eyelashes demurely, with a pretty blush staining his cheeks? Or would he pant and flash me that damned grin of his, all sated and sweaty like he is after a concert?

…Hell, would he even be underneath me? That night, he said he likes how I feel under him, and he’s been staring at my ass… would he want to be on top? To fuck me?

_[What do you think **that** would be like?]_

“GAH! HOLY SHIT! What the fuck is wrong with me?!”

Too much. That was too much. I rub my face and fling myself out of bed to stagger my way to the bathroom. I don’t know what relief I hope to find there, but thinking about this in a room that still smells like cum is clearly not helping anything. This whole mess is going way too far. I can’t believe I’m thinking about Die like this, the man is practically my brother! I’m overreacting to a… a stupid, drunken display of poor judgment, that’s all. I need a shower. Yes, a nice refreshing shower, to clear my head. I turn on the faucet and wait for the water to heat up before stepping in.

Should I even be considering this? I mean… even assuming I’m right, and Die is attracted to me, what would that mean? He hasn’t propositioned me or even hinted at interest beyond one night when he was too sloshed to see straight, so it could have just been a slipup. Everyone with a sex drive has been attracted to plenty of people they never intend to sleep with, idly using them as eye candy to amuse myself throughout the day. It’s just part of human nature. So what if Die has terrible taste in eye candy, that doesn’t mean he’s going to jump my ass any minute now.

…Right?

_[But… what if he did?]_

Would I… would I do it?

Even if I decided to test out this whole sex-with-a-man business, would I want to do it with Die? I mean, I trust him enough that I guess I’d feel safer with him than some random asshole… but he means too much to me to lose his friendship over experimental sex. Particularly when it might very well be totally awful sex. I might be shit at sleeping with guys, how the fuck would I know? It’s probably best to let the whole thing go, especially since he doesn’t even remember kissing me.

_[…But what would it be like?]_

I groan in frustration when I find my mind wandering down that same path again and rest my head against the tile wall of the shower. It’s cool, and it feels nice, but it does nothing for my restless thoughts. And of course, it puts me in a position to stare down at my own dick. It occurs to me suddenly that if I were to sleep with Die, his dick would be involved too. A stupid thought, maybe, but it’s kind of important, since I’ve never really… handled another guy’s junk before. I wonder what his is like? I don’t think I’ve actually seen it, now that I think about it. He’s usually pretty modest about that kind of thing. Is he bigger than me? Does he keep the hair trimmed? He’s actually into other guys, I wonder if he’d like mine… if he’d enjoy seeing it, touching it…

Die… Die has kind of a nice mouth… would he… would he suck me off?

Oh… that’s kind of a nice thought… I know it shouldn’t be, but… Oh…

“You,” I tell myself irritably as I watch myself slowly start to harden, “Are fucked up. You should not be thinking about Die like this!”

…

“Mm… But as long as I am…”

I’ve been accused of being fickle. Sometimes, I agree. It’s been two fucking weeks, and I’m still caught up on this; it’s pretty obvious that I’m not going to get these thoughts out of my head any time soon. So, I can keep being freaked out about thinking about Die sexually, running in circles in my own head like a dog after its own tail, or I can jerk off imagining his mouth wrapped around my cock and see where that gets me. I’m sick to shit of the former, even if I feel completely filthy for even considering the latter. What good will sitting around endlessly worrying and wondering do me?

_[None.]_

So I close my eyes, wrap my hand around all-too-familiar throbbing flesh, and let myself become just a little more profane than I already was. Gods forgive me, I start pleasuring myself, thinking about one of my best friends.

“Nnh…”

Which Die comes to bed, I wonder…?

If we ever wound up sleeping together, would I get the dark, sultry Die that comes to photoshoots? Smoldering, maybe just a touch arrogant, with piercing, predatory eyes? Mmm… I bet that Die is a bit of a freak in the sack, overwhelming and fierce. Kind of bossy, even, but it’s well earned, because he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows how to get what he wants. Maybe he’d make me beg…

_[So very strong, but never cruel or selfish…]_

I tease myself a bit, thinking about this Die… run the pads of my fingers over my balls until I’m panting needily, then squeeze my cock just a little too roughly with a grunt. It makes me over-sensitive, the water flowing over me feeling like the lightest, smoothest caress.

 Or maybe I would get sweet, loveable Die who always wants to smile and make people happy. Eager to please, not necessarily kinky but certainly playful, and definitely lively. Handsy, I bet, and mouthy, practically vibrating with pent-up energy, constantly moving, licking, kissing, touching. He’d be wild to the point of being a little unwieldy, leaving us both gasping for breath and slick with sweat and other sticky-hot messes. Would he be noisy? I hope so…

_[So very sweet, but never lacking in passion…]_

I stroke myself slowly while imagining this Die, occasionally circling my thumb around the head of my erection, my free hand wandering aimlessly over my chest and belly. Just touching, just feeling, exploring, overstimulating myself with even such simple contact. It makes me moan, long and low, but the sound is swallowed by the white noise of falling water.

It’s sinful, I know, but oh, it’s such a delicious sin, imagining those lips around me, all soft and pliant and warm… mmmnnn, and I bet he has a devil’s tongue behind those angel’s lips. I can see him in my mind, those wild eyes staring up at me, that silky hair sliding through my fingers. Die, you catty bastard, why do you have to be so fucking gorgeous between my legs?! It’s not right, I swear it’s not right. That might be why thinking about it feels so damn good as I finally just give in and start jerking off.

It’s fucked up.

_[But so good.]_

This whole thing is fucked up.

_[It doesn’t have to be.]_

I’m fucked up.

_[But he’s beautiful, isn’t he?]_

Internal conflict doesn’t stop me from pumping at myself almost frantically until I’m groaning and shooting my load all over the shower wall, my imagination providing me even then with the sight of him swallowing my seed with a wicked little smirk. The image adds a strange flavor to the afterglow of what should have been a pretty simple, straightforward orgasm and I shiver under the unfamiliar weight of it, letting my mind drift in the lingering haze of pleasure. Die’s intrusion on my sex life isn’t as unwelcome as I would have expected it to be.

I only just start coming back down when confused guilt hits me, hard. I feel like I’ve… I don’t know, abused him somehow, thinking about him like this. Like I’ve sullied our friendship, perverting it beyond repair with my sordid fantasy. It’s just… it’s wrong… isn’t it?

_[Don’t be stupid.]_

What the hell am I supposed to do?! He planted such a damned poisonous seed in my mind with that FUCKING KISS and now corruption is threading through my veins. I never thought I would reach a point in my life where I would have to admit this, but I can’t deny it now, can I? Even if it turns out that he doesn’t want me, even if nothing more comes of this, I now have to accept that Die…

Die, who I’ve known for so many years, who’s been there with me through thick and thin as we clawed our way up out of the indies scene and into legitimacy…

Die, the sensitive trickster, the philosophical jock, the unrepentant dork who drinks too much and tries to sleep on benches that he’s too tall for…

Die, who two weeks ago told me I fit against him like I was made to be there then kissed me, and who this morning got me in a headlock and gave me a vicious noogie…

Die, who always has a smile ready for me… who makes me laugh when no one else can… who’s seen me at my worst and never once judged me… my dear friend, my co-worker, my bandmate, my brother…

_[Just fucking admit it!]_

Die is sexy.

…And he might think I’m sexy too.

Maybe?

“…Fuck.”

I need help.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

I’m panting by the time I reach my destination, having all-but run the entire way here and then taken the stairs two at a time up to the fourth floor. I lift a hand to knock on the door in front of me, but… fuck, I’m tired. I slump against the doorframe and take a minute to just breathe. My legs are shaking so bad. I don’t know if it’s from all the running or the sex followed by masturbation or the fact that I’m kind of having a meltdown, but I’m right on the verge of collapse. I hate this. Hate what something that should have been so insignificant has done to me, hate being so confused, hate feeling like I’ve lost my grip on my own life.

_[Standing out here wheezing isn’t going to fix anything.]_

Taking a deep breath and swallowing, I bang my fist against the door three times. The hall around me is eerily silent, so even through the door, under the quiet buzz of some television program, I can hear the soft clatter of a bottle being set down amongst its brothers, followed by the unhurried shuffle of footsteps. There’s a brief pause, during which I know I’m being seen through the peephole, then the door opens.

“Kyo? It’s like two in the morning, what’s up?”

Is it really? Whoops. I duck my head a bit, “Sorry Kao, I… I couldn’t sleep.”

Not like I tried, but the words have become kind of a code between us over the years. There are two people I routinely run to when something is bothering me too much to deal with on my own. Shinya is great for when I just need to vent and have someone listen attentively, maybe sympathize a little, but he doesn’t really offer much in the way of feedback or advice. Kaoru will listen and then, when necessary, pry my head out of my ass to set me back on course. And I really need to get my bearings back right now.

The fact that he’s gay is kind of a bonus tonight.

He steps aside to let me in. “How long has it been bugging you?”

I hang up my jacket, then kick off my shoes and dig the slippers that he keeps just for me out of the shoe rack. “Couple weeks.”

“Mm. Sit, I’ll get you a drink.”

Gods, I love that man. Sinking into the couch as he disappears into the kitchen, I find that I already feel a little bit better. Kaoru will know what to do. He always does. He comes back a couple minutes later and presses a short glass into my hands, mutes his television, lights a cigarette for each of us, then settles onto the other end of the couch facing me, legs draped over my lap. It’s a damn comforting routine, and a couple sips of the vodka tonic he made me do a lot to settle my nerves. Another concession purely for my sake; he only drinks beer at home, but he knows that if whatever I’m holding onto is particularly upsetting, I’ll need some help getting it out, and my stomach really can’t handle beer.

 “So, what happened a couple weeks ago?” he asks.

“Well…” Eh… how do I put this, without implicating Die? I can’t even fully identify exactly what part of this situation is bothering me, now that I think about it. I stall, taking a drag at my cigarette while I try to sort my thoughts. Smoke curls out of my mouth when I speak again. “A good friend of mine got incredibly drunk and… kissed me… And I really don’t know what to do about it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “…Just kissed you? That’s not all that unusual, I’d think. Hell, I’ve done it a couple of times.”

“You always miss.”

_[And he doesn’t make you feel the way Die did.]_

_[What do you suppose that means?]_

“The point still stands. I’d think by now you’d be used to people doing stupid shit when they’re drunk, so how is this one different? Did they… they didn’t attack you, did they? Molest you or something?”

I frown and shake my head. “No, no, nothing like that, just a kiss. It wasn’t a sloppy, drunk kiss though, it was very… _careful_. And before it, my friend just looked so… so sad… like they needed it so badly, like they were hurting…” My chest aches at the memory of it, and I rub it absently with one hand. It’s a strange feeling – bittersweet – and I’m not sure what it represents. If it hurt just a little more, I’d be tempted to dig it out of myself, but as it is, I find I almost savor it, somehow. “I’ve known them for years, and I’ve never seen them look like that before… they’ve never tried to kiss me, either.”

He takes a long, slow pull at his cigarette, watching me thoughtfully, then exhales. “Has your friend said anything to you about it?”

“No. I don’t think they even remember it happened.” I fidget with the glass and take another sip. “But I’ve been watching them a lot lately and sometimes I get the feeling that they might… maybe be attracted to me? I guess I’m thinking that they’re very lonely, and I’m wondering if I should… do something about it?”

“Do ‘something’ like…?”

This is kind of embarrassing. I shrug a little and look away from him. “Like… sleep with them…? I don’t know…”

“So you’re worried about choosing between your friend and your girlfriend?”

I wince. Shit, I’d almost forgotten about her. “No, she… we broke up earlier tonight.” I press my free hand over my face, mortified. “I was… I was thinking about my friend while we were having sex and she… well, she could tell. She accused me of cheating and we had a huge fight, then she left. I don’t think she’s coming back.”

_[It’s for the best.]_

Kaoru’s hand paused halfway to carrying his beer bottle to his mouth, looking a little shocked. “…You were fantasizing about your friend during sex?”

“Not fantasizing!” I snap defensively, then mutter, “Just… wondering, you know? What it would be like with them… If it would be different than it was with her… If I would like it. I didn’t call out anybody else’s name or anything.”

“Ah. Alright, she’s not the conflict here, so you’re freaking out because…?”

“I… I couldn’t stop thinking about my friend even after she left…” The next part needs to be said, but I’m still kind of feeling guilty about it. My shoulders hunch up a bit as I take another drink and mumble, “I fantasized then… in the shower. I… I jacked off thinking about them, and I just… it’s weird, thinking about them that way and actually getting off on it!”

His eyes narrow a bit and he leans closer to me. “Kyo… is there a reason you’re not using specific pronouns for your ‘friend’?”

…Shit. I cringe a little and nod slowly.

“…Is it because your friend is a man?”

I close my eyes and nod again. But… he has to know, doesn’t he? He can’t help if he doesn’t know the whole story. I’m pretty sure a huge part of my issue is coming from Die’s gender, and it’s not like he’s going to judge me. I’m just so fucking confused, the frustration and uncertainty is starting to make me sick to my stomach. I down the rest of my vodka tonic and shudder as the alcohol burns a path through me.

“I don’t know what to do. All he did was kiss me and he doesn’t even remember it, but it’s all I can think about. I lost my girlfriend over him, I jacked off thinking about him, and I don’t even know for sure whether or not he’s attracted to me! And even if he is, I don’t know what to do about it! I don’t… I’ve never… I’m not… gay… you know? At least… I wasn’t…”

He frowns a little, as if something just occurred to him. “Uh… it isn’t me, is it?”

I roll my eyes. “No. Like I said, you always miss.”

“Oh, good. Don’t get me wrong, I’d be flattered and all, but you seem like you’re probably kind of a biter, and I’m not really into that.”

Asshole. But what else are older brothers good for?

“Alright, well… are you attracted to this guy?”

I want to say no, but I think that’s a knee-jerk reaction. When it comes right down to it, I just masturbated thinking about Die, and it’s like a switch has been thrown in my head. Even now, exhausted and wound so tight I’m liable to snap any minute, thinking about him makes me quiver just a little bit. Of this much, I can at least be fairly sure.

“…Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

It does get me wondering, though, if the switch that’s kicked over is for men in general, or just for Die. I look Kao over from the corner of my eye, contemplating. He’s shirtless – something shockingly few people have had the privilege of seeing, considering what we do for a living – and stretched out in what could easily be seen as a provocative sort of drape across the couch. Intellectually, I can acknowledge that he’s an attractive man. He’s in great shape, his tattoos do more to accentuate his looks than to distract from them, he has that beautifully long neck, and his face has an almost sensually predatory look to it when he’s being serious. But, looking at him, I feel nothing beyond a nebulous kind of camaraderie.

_[It’s just Die.]_

“And I’ve never known you to suffer the company of douche bags, so he’s probably a decent person as well?”

Gods, is he ever. Die is just about the sweetest person I know. He’s just so damn sincere, completely committed to everything he does, and unwaveringly devoted to those who are close to him. I admire him in a lot of ways, and I cherish him in others. I feel like I’ve always kind of gravitated to Die, everything about him is just so comfortable for me, so warm. He’s like a song from the first CD you ever bought, or the blanket you brought with you when you first moved out of your parents’ house. Familiar, laden with so many memories of so many good times and bad, omnipresent and maybe a little taken for granted because of it. Makes you feel safe, like anywhere can be home, if you just have that one treasure with you. I nod.

“The best.”

“If your friend was female, would you sleep with them?”

Well… I don’t know. Would all of this have happened the same way if Die were a woman? On the one hand, I wouldn’t have been wondering about whether or not the sex would have been different while I was with my girlfriend, so we probably wouldn’t have gotten in that fight and broken up. In which case, no, because although I am many unsavory things, I am not unfaithful. But if not for her, if it was just a matter of attraction, both physical and personal… if it was just a friend I was that close to, hurting for want of company, possibly my company… a friend from whom one damn kiss could so completely overturn my life…

“Yeah, I… I guess I would.”

“You trust this guy?”

_[You don’t even have to think about this one, do you?]_

“With my life.”

“Well then… if your only problem is that he’s male and it’s not completely turning you off of the whole thing, maybe it’d be worth it to test the waters a little? If he returns your attention, you’ll get to try something new, and if not, I’m sure he’ll let you down gently. But really, it sounds like there’s a fair chance he’s into you already.”

I bite my lip against a flare of anxiety and look at him. “But what if… what if we start fooling around and I freak out? I wouldn’t know what to do with another guy; I don’t even know if I’d enjoy sex with him at all! I don’t want to ruin our friendship for an experimental fling!”

“I’m sure it’s not all that different than sex with women. Foreplay’s a little different, but in the end, you put your dick in a hole, there’s some thrusting, and if you’re doing it right, good times are had by all.”

I grunt and try (failing miserably, I’m sure) not to blush. “But what if I-… what if he wants me to-… what if I have to be the woman?”

He looks caught between offense and amusement. “There are no women in gay sex, Kyo. That’s kind of the point.”

“You know what I mean! I just… I mean… I don’t understand how… that could possibly feel good. It seems like it has to, or else why would so many people do it? But I just can’t imagine… I don’t know if I could do it, even for him.”

“Hmm… I suppose that’s fair. Alright, wait here.” He swings his legs out of my lap and stands, disappearing down the hallway.

My head hurts now. I rest my elbows on my knees and put my face in my hands. Kaoru thinks I should try something with Die? My heart kind of shivers at the prospect. I’m not sure it it’s from nerves or anticipation or what; probably a vile cocktail of so many conflicting things. The pervert in me is kind of excited by the idea, I think, thrilled at the possibility of something new and forbidden. The pessimist in me is insisting that Die can’t possibly want me when he’s actually sober, and that if I do this, I’ll lose him forever… the optimist is whispering that he could like me, that we could be something so much more than we are, and would that be so terrible?

To be so close to such radiance… would it warm me through? Or burn me alive?

I wonder if Kaoru would give me the same advice if he knew exactly whose arms he’s pushing me into. He’s right though… I’m pretty sure that if I reach out to Die and it turns out I was wrong and he doesn’t actually want anything from me past friendship, he’ll let me down so gently. I don’t think he would ever hurt me on purpose.

_[You know he wouldn’t.]_

Nnh… there’s that ache again.

“Here.”

Kaoru’s voice calls me to lift my head, and I find him holding out a small bag. I accept it and look inside. When my frazzled mind finally registers what I’m looking at, I blanch and stare up at him. “What the hell is this?”

“Call it a bi-curious starter kit. Dildo, lube, condoms, and a couple of decently realistic pornos with good foreplay and preparation scenes.”

“…Are you kidding me?! I don’t want your fucking dildo, Kaoru!”

“It’s new! No one’s ever used it, you have my word.”

“You just have unused sex toys laying around your apartment?!”

“Tons.”

_“Why?!”_

He grins wickedly. “For when my vocalist comes over professing his new, secret craving for cocks, of course. Plus that one is too small for me.” He flops back onto the couch and picks up his beer again. “It’s not a joke, Kyo. Practice on yourself, figure out what you like, see if this is what you really want. At least that way, if you decide to go for this guy, you’ll have some idea what you’re asking for.”

Ugh. Just, fucking… ugh! I hate that that makes sense. This whole situation just became so damn ridiculous I can’t even be mad at him for that comment about craving cocks. I stare into the bag helplessly and wonder how the hell I got to a point in my life where I go to my friends for advice and wind up with a bag of sex toys and porn. We’re just going to go ahead and ignore that weird, squirmy little feeling in my lower belly whenever I look at the bright purple rubber dick Kaoru’s given me.

_[Curiosity just fucking kills you, doesn’t it?]_

“…Kaoru?”

Holy shit, was that my voice? It sounds so… lost. And I don’t really remember telling my mouth to start moving again.

“Yeah?”

I look over at him, searching. “You… you really think I should do this?”

He cocks his head a bit, watching me with a curious smile. “Yeah, I do. I think anything that can have such a strong effect on you is worth exploring, even if seems a little weird at first. The worst that can happen is that you learn something about yourself. Don’t get me wrong, now, I don’t think you should jump straight into bed with this guy if you’re having reservations, but don’t let his gender be all that shapes your decision.”

 “Aa…”

“And I don’t want you fucking anybody just because you’re worried they’re lonely. Only if it’s what you want too,” he scolds me, gently. “You’re too soft-hearted to let yourself be used like that, and I’d hate to see you get hurt again.”

I growl at him halfheartedly. He’s right, as usual, and I hate it. I might very well be setting myself up to be used. And if Die does hurt me – if I botch this so badly that he can’t even be bothered to be kind in shooting me down, or if I let myself get too attached and all he wants is a fling – he is in a unique position to damage me more deeply than anyone else could. I don’t know if I have it in me to sing another song like _Zakuro_.

_[Don’t be stupid.]_

“Oh, put your fangs away. Here, do you want another drink?”

“No.” I shake my head slowly. That first one was pretty strong. “I… I think I should go home. It’s late…”

A lot of times when I come to Kaoru looking for help, I wind up getting completely loaded, passing out, and spending the night, just because I can’t stand to be alone. Tonight, though, I think I need to be in my own home. I need to resolve myself to my lost relationship, and contemplate the possibility of a new one, and I can’t do either of those things if I’m as drunk as Kaoru will get me. He’s already asked the questions that lead me to a workable understanding of what’s bothering me, and given me a course of action to resolve this issue. I think I’ve settled down enough that I can find my way from where I am to wherever I’m going without too much further freaking out.

_[He didn’t tell you anything you didn’t already know.]_

“Are you sure? If you’re still bothered, I don’t mind staying up. You know I never really sleep anyways.”

“No.” I stand, letting the bag hang loosely from two of my fingers. “No, I think I have to sort through the rest of this by myself. Thanks, Kao, you… this helps a lot.”

He nods and stands as well, following me to the door to see me out. “Alright. You know I’m here if you need me again, right? You can call or come over; I don’t care how late it is.”

I smile at him, because I know he really means that, and goddamn is that a rare trait to find in a person. “Thank you, Kaoru.”

Huddled into my jacket, with what feels like Pandora’s Box dangling from my left wrist, I head back out into the winter cold. Something like resolve settles deep in my stomach now that I have a halfway passable plan of action. I don’t care what it takes, I will get this situation figured out, and I will not lose my friend in the process. Die may have been absolutely shit-faced when he started this mess, may have completely forgotten about it, but I will be damned if I don’t see it through to the finish.

_[You can do this. You have to.]_

…Jesus Christ, why does the dildo have to be purple? Fucking Kaoru…

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

For all my bravado on the way out of Kaoru’s place, it’s taken over a week for me to find the time to do anything with the “kit” he gave me. Between photoshoots, interviews, the final stages of recording, shooting promotional videos, Christmas parties, and meetings for the planning phases of our next tour, I haven’t had the time or the energy to breathe, let alone indulge myself in experimental masturbation. I have jerked out a couple more quick ones in the shower thinking about Die, though, and I did take some time on Monday to watch the pornos Kaoru gave me. Both have only exacerbated the situation. Particularly the former; I can hardly look at Die anymore without part of me wondering what he looks like naked, or how he’d feel against me. If he really wants me back. If this will break us completely.

It’s taken everything I have not to come clean with him and just hope for the best if it turns out he does want to sleep with me. I can’t stand how strained things are between us now; I’m constantly questioning his motives, questioning my own motives, and I just want to lance this festering wound in our relationship and bleed out the infection of uncertainty. After talking to Kaoru, it feels like all of the affection I’ve felt for Die over the past few years – all of my devotion to him as a friend, as a brother sharing in my life’s dream – has been shifting into something new and terrifyingly intense as I start to see him under a new light. Something I can barely identify, let alone define. Only the fear of losing him completely has kept my tongue still thus far.

_[You know what it is.]_

_[It’s always been there, just fucking accept it.]_

But the weekend is here now, and I have the entire day to myself, free of appointments or plans besides a nice, long session of pleasuring myself. I’ve taken the most thorough shower of my life, including shaving and trimming every hair on my body that I can even halfway justify grooming. Music is playing overhead – instrumental, heavy and just fast enough to get me riled up, but not so much as to be distracting. I’m naked as the day I was born, and the lube and dildo are sitting innocuously on the bedspread, waiting to defile me. I lay out beside them, legs kicked out wide, and sigh happily as my hands slide lazily over my chest. Gods, I’ve needed this…

I close my eyes and let Die fill my mind once again. He surfaces there so easily anymore; it’s hardly an effort to bring up a passable phantom of my latest fixation. The things that I’ve actually experienced before are clearest, I just have to alter the memory a little bit to fit the fantasy until I bask in the scent of his cologne tinged with his unique musk, the slide of his skin against mine, the way his body moves and how his hair falls over his face. Others, I have to guess at, relying entirely on my imagination to provide the taste of his sweat and the sound of his moans, but in the end, my every sense is entangled with the ghost of Die.

As always, my vision begins with that goddamned kiss. His hair brushes against my cheek, followed by the press of a broad hand with long, calloused fingers. Stubble rasps against my chin, soft lips seal against my own, and I taste his preferred brands of beer and cigarettes. This is comfortable, safe, and I savor the now-familiar flutter in my chest. I know that I enjoyed that kiss, so it’s a good starting point before I push into newer territory.

His phantom form – hard and flat and heavy with undeniable strength – settles over me, surrounds me, and I shudder a bit. I think this is a big part of what makes me nervous about being with Die. Physically, he’s significantly larger than I am, and the thought of being belly-up beneath him feels like submission to a baser part of my nature. My imagination prods at that fear, exploring it, the ghost of those perfectly straight teeth brushing possessively over my throat as an inaudible growl rumbles in my ears, and I hear myself snarl back in response. It feels like a sacrifice, almost, like I’m giving away control.

But then I smell that cologne again, and I find that it relaxes me a bit. It’s _Die,_ not just some random guy trying to exert power over me. Sex is about _bonding_ , giving entirely of oneself in the exchange of pleasure and trust, and I… I don’t mind giving so much of myself to him, I think. I believe, deep in my core, that I can lay supine beneath him, my every weakness exposed and laid bare, and know that he won’t kick me as so many others have. Comprehending that level of faith in another human being is entirely new to me, and I find that it’s almost sort of… _exciting_ , in a way. Maybe it doesn’t have to be a sacrifice? Does there have to be control involved, anyways? Just because I’m underneath him doesn’t mean we’re not still equals, does it?

_[No, it doesn’t have to.]_

I “feel” the teeth at my throat slide up to nibble at my earlobe – a reward for my trust – and my hands begin a more directed journey over my chest, stimulating flesh I imagine him to be touching. One threads through the hair over my cock and tugs a little, just enough to tease, to make me shiver and buck my hips a bit. I’m not all that difficult to excite, I think; already I can feel my blood rushing south. Beautiful.

The other hand rubs a thumb languidly just around the edge of my left nipple, and a whispery moan escapes me in response. Very few of the women I’ve been with have ever really done anything about it, but I fucking love having my nipples played with. It sends a delicious little shock straight to my groin and I like to imagine Die would exploit that mercilessly if we were ever together. I take my sweet time teasing myself before pinching the little nub between my thumb and forefinger.

“Nnnh! Die…” I murmur.

I can’t believe how good his name feels on my tongue. I moan louder now, panting as “his” hand slides over to tease and pinch at my other nipple. Fuck, I’m really losing myself into this mess, aren’t I? I don’t know what I’m going to do if this doesn’t work. I don’t know if I’ll be able to just let it go even if I can’t stomach the thought of being fucked by him – or, worse yet, if I can, but he has no interest in me in sober daylight. Just one little kiss, one drunken collision in the snow, and I’m pretty sure I’m falling for him so hard that I’m not convinved I won’t break when I inevitably hit rock bottom.

Should I be surprised at how quickly this has all come to me?

_[Only because you’re blind to what might make you happy.]_

Shouldn’t it take longer to fall in love with someone?

_[Longer than all these years?]_

But… isn’t this new…?

_[Don’t be stupid.]_

“Die’s” hand pulls me out of my reverie with explicit mischief in mind, moving out of my pubic hair to drag teasing finger tips ever-so-lightly down the length of my cock. I arch my hips up, trying to get more solid contact, but the hand just moves with me, and I groan in self-indulgent frustration. Gods, I wish he would just touch me! Stop teasing me and just fucking touch me!

“Die! Unh… please…!”

Shit… I don’t even know if I’m bitching about him or my fantasy anymore…

Whatever. They both need to fucking touch me before I go crazy.

It’s as good a time as is ever going to be. I open my eyes and let go of myself to reach out for the bottle of lube, snapping it open and letting a big glob of it spill out over my fingers. It’s… thinner than I had expected it to be, and so slippery it’s almost kind of gross. I halt my restless panting just long enough to swallow back a nervous little lump in my throat, bending my legs up a bit. Closing my eyes, retuning to my fantasy, I reach down to press the tip of one finger against my opening. Weird, weird, it’s _weird_. I whine a little, and the feeling only gets weirder as “Die” presses inward, sliding the single digit all the way in. It doesn’t… hurt at all – it’s going in pretty easily, actually, for all that it’s a tight fit – but it’s a completely alien sensation that makes my toes curl and my breath hitch up in my throat.

I feel myself starting to balk a little bit, so close to losing my courage because this is just so strange. But my phantom-Die is there, his scent and his heat washing over me and steadying my nerves with the memory of that too-sweet kiss. For him. I’ve come this far, I can do this for him. Even just for the possibility of him. It’s not all that unpleasant, anyways, now that I’ve had a minute to adjust to the feeling, and the finger starts to slide in and out a bit experimentally.

Not unpleasant at all.

“He” pulls most of the way out and lines up a second finger with the first, pushing both in slowly. There’s a little bit of a stretching feeling now, and “Die’s” free hand moves back to my cock to distract me from it. That weird feeling from just around my entrance is starting to feel almost… kind of good, in a very unexpected way. It’s not mind-blowing or anything, but the friction is pretty nice as the fingers push in as deep as they possibly can, so I guess I-

“UNH!”

Holy shit, I don’t even know what just happened, but suddenly I’m arched off the bed like I just electrocuted myself, and it surprises the hell out of me. That, _that_ felt good. “Die” presses his fingers in again, searching… there!

“Nnnnn! Oh, gods…”

I kind of lose myself for a minute, absolutely enraptured with the fantasy of Die fingering me and completely blown away by how good it feels. The spot “he’s” hitting makes my hips jerk instinctively, my dick rutting mindlessly up into the air, and it’s fucking amazing. The most disgustingly self-indulgent moans and grunts push out of my throat as I roll my shoulders back and splay my legs wider to give “Die” better access.

_[Yes, you could learn to love this.]_

A loud, jarring bell chimes from my bedside table and I choke out a garbled curse, startled by the sound. I look over and see that my phone’s screen is lit up (can’t see who’s calling from this angle, but I don’t give half of a shit right now) and it’s vibrating itself in a slow circle as it rings. It’s my day off, damnit! Releasing the grip my left hand had had on my erection, snarling at the break in my fantasy, I swing clumsily at the cursed thing until my hand hits the screen and shove it off the table. It’s blessedly silent when it hits the floor and I relax back into my pillow, closing my eyes again. Where was I?

“Mmnnnh…”

Oh right. “Die’s” hand closes around my cock once again, demanding my attention and setting up a clumsy sort of rhythm pumping as the fingers of the other hand push in and out of me. My voice echoes around my bedroom in a jerky, broken cacophony of needy moans and gasps of Die’s name. “He” feels (smells, sounds, tastes, looks) so good around me, over me, inside me, want for more than fantasy makes my chest ache fiercely even as “he” pushes a third finger into me.

“Die! ANH, Die, more! Gods, please, more…”

I can almost imagine his voice, murmuring my name as he looks down at me with that smile – so sweet, so smug, making me whine for more. There’s that stretch again, but I don’t care, I just want more of that filling, more of that friction, more of that electricity pushing through me. I cry out as the hand on my dick tightens convulsively, digging my feet into the bedspread and arching up, straining for more, trying to find the void that’s keeping me from release to fill it, so close at hand but somehow out of reach. I need more, damn it, more, more, more, of something, I don’t know what, but I need it. Gods, it just feels so damn good.

_~WHAM!~_

My bedroom door slams open with an echoing crash and I scream a little, sitting bolt upright.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU HEARTLESS PRICK?!”

…

_Holy shit, that’s Die._

Die is in my room, I’M NAKED AND DIE IS IN MY ROOM!

I scramble to pull the covers up over myself, heart in my throat, panting wildly and probably bruising my face with the force of my blush. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”

Fuck, FUCK! This is so goddamn embarrassing! Oh gods, did he see what I was doing? _FUCK!_ How is it I can’t have one damn day to myself to jack off in peace?! Shit, I think he put my bedroom doorknob through the damn wall! And did he just call me a prick?! What’s his fucking problem?! What the fuck is going on right now?!

He looks absolutely pissed, stalking over to the bed and shoving his phone in my face as he hisses, “You think this is fucking funny, you piece of shit?! You think you can just play with people like this, like it’s SOME DAMN JOKE?!”

I have to cross my eyes a little to see the screen. It’s… a picture of me, my name above it, and a little digital timer underneath it, reading just over five minutes and counting. The option to “End Call” is a big red button on the bottom. He’s… on the phone with me?

“What… what are you talking about?” I demand shakily. Somewhere, just out of reach, I know that that screen is telling me something very bad.

He growls, “Who told you I liked you?”

I open my mouth a little, but I don’t know how to answer that. He… he likes me? I was right? Hope’s jagged edges press a little further out in my chest, flexing broken-glass wings. Maybe all he wants me for is a tumble in the sheets, but to even get that much…

 “You know what? It doesn’t even matter! I can’t believe you of all people would sink this fucking low! I came over to see what I had done so damned wrong that made you avoid me all week, but even if I’d known you were a homophobe, I never thought you would be such a fucking bastard about it!”

Wait, what? What did I do?! How am I a homop- **Phone**.

He’s on the phone with me. How can he be on the phone with me if I’m not on the phone?

…

Oh shit, no!

Eyes wide, I lean over to peer over the edge of my bed at where my phone landed. I think I might be sick. There’s Die’s face, staring up at me from the screen, with a little timer and an “End Call” button, damning me with a cheerful glow. I answered it when I pushed it off the nightstand earlier, and he… oh gods… Die heard me masturbating! And he thinks I was doing it to tease him?! I don’t even know which is worse. I look up at him, absolutely mortified, and struggle to find words to explain myself.

“Die, I… oh fuck, Die, I’m so sorry, I… I didn’t mean to… I-I didn’t think the phone had picked up, I… I wasn’t trying to answer it, I wouldn’t…I would never…”

He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at something near my legs with a purely confused frown on his face. I follow his gaze and realize, horrified, what he’s staring at. I grab at the incriminating object, but he’s quicker, picking up that god-awful purple dildo with two delicate fingers, as if it’s completely unsanitary. I suppose for all he knows, it is. I groan a little and hide my face with the covers, completely humiliated. Why can nothing ever go the way I want it to?! This has to be some kind of horrible nightmare; shit just can’t go this wrong in real life.

“What is this?”

A slightly-hysterical laugh bubbles out of me. Stupid Die. What a ridiculous question.

“You’re straight, why do you even have this?”

I would absolutely love to lie to him right now because the truth is too embarrassing to stand, but I just… I can’t do it. Not only because I can’t think of anything better than some sickeningly flimsy excuse about it belonging to a girlfriend, but because I’ve never really been able to lie to Die, and I don’t think now is a good time to start.

“…” My voice is muffled by the blanket, and part of me hopes he can’t hear me properly. “I… was just curious.”

“You… you didn’t answer the phone on purpose?” The anger has drained out of his voice, and he just sounds bewildered.

I shake my head slowly. This is horrible… I think I’m going to be sick. There’s a long pause, crackling with the tensest, heaviest silence I’ve ever experienced, before a hand grabs the front of my blanket and yanks it away from me completely. I yelp and drop my hands to cover myself.

“Die! What the fuck?!” I snap, shocked by the blatant affront.

Oh gods, his face… I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so intense. He drops the dildo and his phone, climbing onto the bed and pushing my legs apart roughly, holding them open with his knees. I panic and try to push him away, but he grabs my wrists and pins them to the wall by my head, staring down at my naked body. This has done a lot to cool my ardor, but I’m still hard, and the insides of my upper thighs are still glistening with streaks of lube where I got a little messy with it. I’m shaking by the time he speaks again, and there might be an angry tear streak or two down my cheeks.

“…You were actually masturbating.”

“Let me go.”

“You were masturbating… thinking about me?”

Gods, I wish he would look up. I wish he would let me go. I wish anything would happen other than what’s happening right now. With him staring down at me like that, his hair is covering his face, and I have no way of knowing what he thinks about this. His voice sounds a little incredulous, but I can’t tell if he’s disgusted or shocked or excited or what. I open my mouth and nothing comes out. Should I confess? Or will that just make this mess worse? I can’t know what to say to him when I have no idea how he’s going to react. The tension builds as the silence stretches on, making it hard to breathe before Die finally breaks under the strain.

“FUCKING TALK TO ME, GODDAMN IT!” He explodes, his grip on my wrists becoming painful.

_[Just fucking admit it!]_

“Yes!” I snap frantically. “Yes, you bastard, I was masturbating thinking about you, alright?! Now let me go, you’re hurting me!”

It takes him a minute before he seems to realize how hard he’s pressing on me and jerky back like I burned him. I lash out once, slapping him across the face for the offence before pulling my legs back up to shield myself. This is all just too damn much for me. I’m naked and he’s not and he’s way too damn close and way too damn big and he’s violated the sanctuary of my bedroom and I’m feeling incredibly threatened by all the yelling, vulnerable. He has that look on his face again, like that night in the snow, where he’s so goddamn close to happiness but it’s infected by an underlying pain. I don’t understand it. What does he want? How do I keep hurting him without even trying, without even knowing what I’m doing so wrong?!

“You… but you’re… straight,” he whispers, stuck on that point and hopelessly lost.

“Yeah, I thought so too, but that didn’t seem to bother you all that much when you fucking kissed me!”

“I… you remember that?”

…the FUCK did he just say?!

“ME?! Of course I remember it, why the fuck wouldn’t I?! You were the one drunk off his ass! You’ve been pretending to have forgotten this whole time?!”

“I… I thought it would be better if… if we just acted like it never happened…”

I reel back a little. He… he regrets…? That hurts a hell of a lot more than I was expecting it to. Had I really gotten my hopes up so high about this? About the possibility of… us? Fuck, I know better than that! But… it still doesn’t explain anything – the kiss, his sadness, any of it! And didn’t he just say he likes me?!

_[Think about it. It only makes sense if he-]_

“Just tell me what you want from me!” I growl at him, seething fury rising up over my pain to keep me stable until I can break down in private. “Was it just a joke?! Did you not realize it was me?! Because when you kiss me like that, when you tell me that you like how I fit under you, all I can think is that you want to fuck me!”

He stares at me for a long time and I glare back, panting.

“No,” he murmurs despondently after a while, letting his gaze fall down and to the side. “No, I don’t want to sleep with you.”

“Then why-”

He shakes his head, cutting me off. “I want to wake up with you.”

What? What the fuck does that mean?! I wish he’d quit being melodramatic and just tell me what he me-

“Every day. Just to fuck you… to have a taste of what I want, and never anything more… it would kill me.”

Oh.

_[You get it now?]_

… _Oh._

Well… shit. That takes the wind right out of my sails, and I can’t really be angry with him anymore because… gods, does he mean what I think he means? I can’t think of any other possible meaning for those words. There isn’t one, is there? This is… this is a confession? The puzzle pieces finally fit together – the kiss, the fleeting glances, the butterfly touches – but not the way I had tried to assemble them. And the picture they form is nothing like what I had been figuring on, so much more beautiful than a simple sexual experiment. It’s so hard to believe, but a very big part of me is sick with hope and wonder that that might actually be the case.

“…How… how long have you…?”

He shrugs a little, listless in his desolation. “I don’t know. Forever, I guess? I keep thinking it’ll go away, and I can just be happy being your friend, but… it never does.”

Oh, Daisuke… I can’t stand how sad he looks, how sad he sounds – like he’s just waiting for me to rip him open for having the gall to want more than friendship – but at the same time, I feel like I’m flying. Either this is the cruelest dream I’ve ever had, or Die just told me that he’s been pining after me all these years, that I… I might actually get what I want for once. There it is again, that ache in my chest. Such a sweet pain, resonating with the sound of his voice, and I suddenly recognize it for what it is.

_[Yearning, approaching obsession, teasing at the edges of love.]_

“Die, I…” Ugh, how do I say this? This all would have been so much easier if he hadn’t fucking barged in on me jacking off. I can’t think straight. I feel small and completely exposed for the first time in a very long while, and I hate it. I swallow and speak carefully, “I wouldn’t mind, you know. Waking up with you.”

His head snaps up again and he stares at me with a terrifying wildness in his eyes – anger and disbelief warring bitterly with hope and want. “Don’t… gods, Kyo, don’t say that, you can’t know what you’re saying.”

…

**Oh, goddamn it!**

I finally do know what I’m saying – _finally_ , since this whole mess started, I’m actually sure about something – and he fucking doubts me? Fine. I’ll show him the way he showed me, then, in a language he understands. I grab onto his hair to hold him in place, kneeling and leaning forward to kiss him firmly. It’s chaste, the way his was – nothing but the press of lips – though I’m sure it’s nowhere near as sweet, with how riled up I am. I can’t ache or want as tenderly as he can, I suppose, but the message is there nonetheless.

He freezes up, stunned, and I pull back a little bit to stare him down. Does he fucking get it now? Does he see what that poisonous seed he planted in me has blossomed into? I hope so, because after this, I am officially his fucking problem, and there’s no going back. The anger melts out of his eyes, hope and want (and… love? Oh Die, why do you do this to me? _How_ do you do this to me?!) burning it away, and only the barest trace of disbelief clings stubbornly. Good. Finally, we have an understanding. Mutual affection, mutual want; his more firmly rooted than my own, having had longer to accept and adapt to it, mine somewhat fragile and chaotic for its newness, but both sincere and tinged with need.

“Kyo… you…?”

“Yes, Die.”

“You… you really mean…?”

“Yes, Die.”

He just kneels there for a moment, dumbstruck, utterly beautiful in a moment where anyone else would just look stupid, because he can’t be anything else. I lick my lips absently, tasting him there for the second time, and the want I see in him flares wildly. He groans and closes the gap between us again, one hand cradling the back of my head while the other clamps around my waist to crush me against him. This kiss is anything but pure. It’s fierce, intoxicatingly so, not necessarily rough but it feels like he’s trying to swallow me whole, to pull me into himself tongue-first even as he pushes himself into me. It’s nothing like anything I’ve experienced before – not just because he’s not a woman, but because of the emotional maelstrom we had to slog through just to get this far, and because it’s so much more than a simple slide of lips and tongues.

The gentle kiss, that night in the snow, had spoken of his love, even if I hadn’t fully understood what it meant at the time. This one is screaming to me the depths of that affection, the desperation with which he has wanted and despaired for what he believed could never be. I give back to him with everything I have, maintaining my death grip on his hair, telling him that I want this. That I want this and I want him – all of him – and that it scares the hell out of me because I don’t fully understand it, but I can’t and I won’t let it go. That all I know for sure is that his pain kills me inside, and that the thought of being what makes him happy makes me feel like hope’s glass wings are tearing their way out of my flesh and damned if I can’t fly for him.

_[Finally…]_

When we finally break apart for air, he’s shaking with something that could be laughter or tears and I’m so glad to not be completely confused anymore that all I can do is smile and butt my head against his chest. I’ve been so lost since that first kiss – unsure of myself, of him, of everything – that finding an anchor in him is the purest relief. I never really thought I’d feel this way, but now that things have settled down a bit, it’s kind of… nice having him looming over me like this, surrounding me. I still feel a little vulnerable, anxious in the face of what’s happening and how I feel, but now it’s almost okay because he’s sort of shielding me, in a way.

For a while, we sit there in silence, clutching one another with enough force that we’ll probably be a bit bruised come morning. My music winds itself down to a heavy silence and the setting sun straining through poorly-drawn curtains turns the whole room fiery orange, but still he holds me. I get the feeling he’s not going to let go any time soon. I don’t mind.

 “Were you really going to use this thing, thinking about me?” he murmurs eventually, voice gone soft with wonder.

“Mnh?”

What’s he looking a- oh, goddamn it. That fucking dildo! Shit, I’m still naked, aren’t I? Naked and hard. I blush and mutter somewhat diffidently, “Yeah, I was.”

“…” He sits back and shifts his weight side to side a little, eyes flickering back and forth between my eyes and my groin. “Do you still want to?”

I shiver a little and feel my dick throb in response. “Y-… yeah…”

“…Can I help?”

Oh gods. Even if I hadn’t already been hard for him; even if I hadn’t already decided that hell with it, I really want to sleep with him; even if I hadn’t had three weeks of build up to prepare for this possibility, I think I would have given him anything he wanted in this moment. Hell, if he’d asked me to bed with him that night in the snow the way he’s asking this now, we could have done without all this dancing around one another, because I’d have gone in a heartbeat. His voice is just so husky with want, and his eyes are dark with so much hope and love and lust, I couldn’t deny him even if I wanted to.

I find myself nodding, and catch myself before I can appear too eager. “But!”

He jerks to a halt halfway to leaning into me, looking unsure. “But?”

“Only if you undress first.” If I’m going to be naked, so is he.

He isn’t deterred in the least by my condition. He rises up on his knees, shrugging out of his jacket easily and letting it drop to the floor. I watch, fully enraptured, as layer after layer of clothing is peeled off one by one, exposing him to me in stages. Fuck, he’s just so damn… _masculine_. All broad shoulders and rangy limbs dusted with fine hair, straight, square hips melding seamlessly into a flat, hard chest. He’s already half-hard, his cock jutting heavy and red from a neatly-trimmed thatch of black hair. And in spite of myself, I can’t help but think he’s the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen.

When he’s completely bare, he pulls me against himself, swallowing my gasp in another kiss as he lays me back down. I’m shaking as I kiss him back – from nervousness and excitement and sheer mental and emotional overload – my hands tentatively exploring his chest, his shoulders, his arms. He’s bolder than I am, perhaps needier or simply more experienced, his palms smoothing eagerly down my sides to grab my hips, grinding himself against me slowly, making us both moan into one another. Part of me is a little freaked out by the feel of his dick sliding against mine, the rest of me is fucking reveling in it. It’s hot and it’s hard and the flesh of it feels like nothing that’s ever touched me before, a completely unique friction that does horrible things to my ability to form rational thoughts.

I’m so distracted by it, it comes as a complete surprise when two slick fingers rub teasingly over my entrance and I jerk against him with a harsh gasp, breaking the kiss. It’s not the same – for all my fantasy, all my imagination, feeling him actually slide those fingers into me is so completely different from what I was doing earlier that I can scarcely breathe for the intensity of it. He presses his lips against my ear, once, whispering something too glorious for me to comprehend, something that makes my heart quiver and burst in ecstasy. A third digit soon joins the first two, obviously finding me stretched to his liking, and he sits up a bit to watch me, eyes half-hooded and hazy with pleasure, as he twists his wrist, making me buck and moan. Gods, I feel like a fucking virgin again, everything is so new, affecting me so powerfully. I guess, in this regard, I am.

_[You could never do this for anyone but him.]_

I’m quaking under the strain of my arousal by the time he removes his fingers, picking up the dildo again and slicking lube over it quickly. His clean hand smoothes up my calf, hitching against my thigh and pressing it until my leg is bent up and out, exposing me completely. I fist my hands into the bedspread, panting, and swallow what would have been a very loud moan as he starts to push the rubber into me. It’s so much more filling than either of our fingers had been, brushing and rubbing against so much more of my insides as it slowly presses deeper and deeper into me. My balls ache with the need to touch myself, to just grab onto my dick and fucking jerk myself stupid, but I want so badly for this to last, to savor every last moment I can of Die touching me this way.

“Kyo…” he moans, and I whimper mindlessly in response. “You have no idea… no fucking idea…”

Maybe I don’t, but I’d love to find out. The way he’s looking at me, I feel almost beautiful for the first time in my life, like I’m the most precious treasure he’s ever held, and I pray with every fiber of my being that I never lose that feeling. He starts pushing the toy in and out of me, excruciatingly gentle at first, then slowly ramping up the speed and depth of his thrusts with every moan and gasp of his name he manages to wring out of me. I’m damn near screaming by the time he leans down and chases a trail of sweat with his mouth from my ribs, up along the bottom edge of one of my pecs, then over a nipple. That slick rasp of his tongue is all I need before I’m choking on my own voice, head back in a silent wail as my release splatters all over my own belly and chest.

I’m not sure what possesses me, whether it’s obligation to return the favor or curiosity or just an indefinable desire to make Die feel good, but I’ve hardly caught my breath before I’m reaching out for him. It’s a bizarre, disjointed kind of familiarity when I take his dick into my hand – so like my own, but distinctly not at the same time. It seems to catch him off guard, and he very nearly collapses onto me before he can catch himself as I stroke him. I was right before; his moans are very deep, sinking into me smoothly as the warmth of the afternoon sun and filling me with an indescribable feeling of wonder.

He’s close already, and I marvel at the effect I apparently had on him. His arms strain, braced on either side of me, and indescribable bliss paints his face, molten coffee-colored eyes burning into my own as he thrusts into my hand in a frenzied, uneven rhythm. The sweat-slicked caramel skin between his neck and his shoulder flexes in front of me and I just can’t help myself. I lunge forward and sink my teeth into it, sliding my tongue roughly over his flesh to collect his flavor and commit it to memory. Not enough to break the skin, but it’ll sure as hell leave a bruise; leave my mark on him for a few days. Evidently he doesn’t mind the love-bite in the least – his entire body convulses and he cries out my name when he cums, liquid heat splashing over my abdomen to mix with my own juices.

He falls kind of shakily to one side, and I grunt a little when he lands half on me. He’s all hard, boney angles, it’s swelteringly hot under him, and there’s still a slippery rubber toy inside me, but I can’t be bothered by any of it right now. The smell in here is different than I’m used to after sex and, running a curious finger through the mess on my belly, I find that he tastes different from a woman as well. Weird… but I can get used to it, easily. He lets out a breathy little moaning laugh as I suck on my finger and I look over at him, blushing as I take the digit out of my mouth. Long fingers thread ever-so-gently through my hair and he kisses me again – deep, but languid; passionate, but sweet; promising me this won’t be all there is between us, but it is going to happen and it’s going to be phenomenal – and I sigh contentedly into it.

I don’t know when Die fell for me, what it was about me that tripped him up and set him so off-balance. But while some habits die hard, others are immortal in spite of our best efforts and better judgment, so after all these years, what else could I do but try to catch him?

_[Nothing.]_

This time, though, I don’t think I mind falling with him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first ever gift fic! It went to cadkitten for the 2011 diexkyo_love Secret Santa Fic Exchange. The request was, “something really... deep. Investigate emotions and deep-seated feelings. It'd be awesome to see someone do it from a first person perspective. Sex is always an added bonus. Feel free to have angst, fluff, whatever you need or want to have. OR if that's all too much... kinky porn is always good.”


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